Free While I'm Falling by Laura Moriarty Page A

you want to come to the spring band concert this year?’ I know it’s a little early, but I can give you the date if you want to mark your calendar.”
    “Yes!” I said. “Yes! I would like to go!” I had to go. There was no way out. Marley played the French horn, and at the beginning of the year, she’d told me she would be playing with the marching band before the first football game, and it was clear from the way she’d looked at me that she wanted me—or someone, anyone—to come see her. I’d said I would. But then I slept late at Tim’s, and I had a test the following Monday, and it was raining, and I didn’t want to go—so I did a terrible thing: I stayed in, studied all day, and then told Marley that I’d spent the day shivering in the stands, clapping and cheering her on. “You were great!” I told her, maybe too enthusiastic. She’d known I was lying. I was sure of it.
    “I wish I were doing the holiday concert.” Marley pulled her blanket up around her shoulders. “You have to be selected for that, and most freshmen don’t get it. But Christmas music is my favorite. My mom played the piano for every music group in our town, so we always went to a bunch of holiday concerts. I always liked them, even when the music was bad.” She sighed. “And then we’d all come home and drink hot chocolate.”
    I pressed the elevator button. Marley would be fine. She had her happy, intact, childhood home complete with Christmas carols and hot chocolate. I didn’t want to talk to her anymore.
    “Well, it’s almost time for finals,” I said. I checked the lights above the elevator doors. “And then the big winter break, not long after that. You’ll get to be home for a while.”
    “Right.” She pulled a large bag of Cheetos out from under the blanket. “Hey, do you want to watch Friends with me? It’s on in ten minutes. I’ll make popcorn.”
    “I’ve got to study,” I said. “Sorry.”
    This was the way it went with Marley. We ended each conversation with her asking for time I didn’t have. She was never the one who was busy, never the one who had too much to do. I knew from experience that if I looked at her now, she would be staring at the floor, her brow furrowed, as if I’d just said something mean. So until the elevator came, I stared at the beige brick wall by the doors, where someone had written “I WAS HERE” in black Magic Marker.
    My mother was wrong: It did not take just a minute to be kind. It usually took much longer, and I had things I needed to do. My mother would no doubt have sat down with Marley all evening, trying to cheer her up. But she had never passed organic chemistry. Her whole life, at least up until she met the Roofer, had pretty much been spent looking out for others, and not getting much else done.
    “I’m getting you a space heater for Christmas.” Tim inched back toward the center of my bed. He was almost a foot taller than I was. My top sheet and comforter didn’t quite cover both of us, and his knees were cold against my toes. I moved my fingertips over the soft hair of his chest, his heartbeat still strong beneath it.
    “I should probably leave by midnight.” He picked up a strand of my hair and wound it around two of his fingers.
    I hadn’t expected he would stay over. He had to be up and on the road early—he had to be in Chicago by late afternoon to pick up other relatives who were flying in. Plus, of course, he hated the dorm. I glanced at the ceiling. My upstairs neighbor had been playing the same reggae song for the last hour, the steady drumbeat vibrating the exposed water pipes over my bed.
    “I can stay for a while,” he said, turning toward me. “I’ll stay until you fall asleep.” He followed my eyes to the leaning pyramid of books and notebooks on my desk. “But you’re not going to sleep, are you?”
    I shook my head. I would start working again as soon as he left, and maybe finish up with the dog sharks by two. That would give